


I Knew From The Beginning It Was You

by littledaybreaker



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledaybreaker/pseuds/littledaybreaker
Summary: In which Clay and Tony discuss predestination, stargaze, and finally kiss--amongst other things.





	I Knew From The Beginning It Was You

**Author's Note:**

> It should be noted, first and foremost, that I haven't written anything in eight months--almost an entire year. I'm not even sure if I'm good at it anymore. And also, this literally came to me as I was falling asleep last night, so again...it might be terrible. I'm sorry if it is. Feedback is always appreciated. Oh, and I am consistently the worst at endings.
> 
> Title is from The Arkells' "11:11" and it gets a little shoutout in two places in the story. Other Arkells songs inspiring this work were Leather Jacket, On Paper, My Heart's Always Yours and Hangs the Moon.

“Do you believe in predestination?” 

They’re almost asleep, somehow, in the warmth of the 2 pm sun behind the school. Clay is sitting so close that Tony can feel the heat radiating off of him. It reminds him of when he was little--they had a cat who had kittens, and you could hold your hand over the box where they slept and feel the warmth of all their little bodies curled together. When he felt scared or sad or anxious, he’d reach into the box and feel the heat radiating off of the kittens, time his breathing with theirs until the feeling receded. He has to suppress the temptation to do it with Clay’s leg now, settling instead of squinting at him over his sunglasses. “What?”

“Predestination. You know? Everything happens for a reason and we’re all just like, shuffling toward whatever ending someone already wrote for us.” 

Tony considers this. “I think we’re ultimately masters of our own destiny,” he says, finally. 

Clay looks annoyed for a moment, it makes Tony smile in spite of himself. “Yeah, but don’t you ever wonder if maybe things happen and even though it’s not obvious at first why, there’s some other bigger reason for it?” 

“Like when you think ‘I’m going to take the long way home’ and then you find out there was an accident on the regular way?”

“Kind of, but--” the bell rings, cutting him off mid-sentence. People start bursting through the doors and the boys rise to their feet, trying to look like they belong there. “See you tomorrow?” 

Tony squints at him, looks like he’s going to say something else, thinks better of it. “Tomorrow, yes.” 

 

It doesn’t come up again for awhile, and it’s almost like it never happened, like maybe the whole thing was imagined. Tony doesn’t think too much about it and he assumes, since Clay never brings it up, that he doesn’t either. Until the party. 

 

He hadn’t even intended on going to the party, knowing perfectly well that nothing good ever comes of it, halfway wondering why some clueless but well-meaning adult hadn’t come along to completely Footloose the idea of them. But he’d come, and if it was because he hoped Clay would be there, well, it was nobody’s business but his, now was it? 

 

Clay is talking to a girl whose name is escaping Tony when he finally finds him, and after a cursory wave he wanders off, finds a quiet spot in a room just off the living room--a study, Tony supposes--and stays there listening to the thumping bass from outside for awhile. He’s not upset about Clay and the girl, of course, because that would be ludicrous, but he can’t put another word onto the way he’s feeling, either. 

“Hey.” Clay’s voice. “Funny seeing you here.”

Tony finishes his drink in one long mouthful. “Isn’t it?” 

“Didn’t really seem like your thing.” Clay’s face is pink, but his eyes are clear. 

“It’s really not,” Tony admits. 

“So what are you doing here then?” The question is so innocent-sounding that Tony firmly disallows himself from considering any hidden meaning, and instead just shrugs. 

Clay squishes himself onto the couch next to Tony, leans his head back and closes his eyes. It’s a small couch, but not so small that every inch of their bodies need to be touching to both be on it--which is exactly how they are. “Are you having fun?” he asks after a while, not opening his eyes. 

“Not especially,” Tony says under his breath, and Clay opens his eyes, grinning at him as if there’s some kind of joke here that Tony’s missing. 

“So do you want to get out of here?”

“And go where?” Tony glances at the clock, mentally calculating how long he has until curfew, then, suddenly-- “hey, make a wish.” 

“Wha?” Clay tilts his head, and Tony points to the digital clock on the computer desk. 

“11:11. Make a wish.” 

They close their eyes tight, silently casting their wishes into the universe, and then Clay grabs Tony’s hand, yanking him up. “I know a place. Let’s go.”

 

The drive is quiet--it usually is. The passenger seat of Clay’s van feels foreign, but the oldies station Tony likes is playing and it puts him at ease. When they pull up to their destination, however, Tony eyes him skeptically. “This is your house,” he says uncertainly. 

“Yes, but no...come on.” 

So Tony follows Clay out into the backyard, through the gate, and maybe 30 feet back into the woods edging the subdivision. “Ta-da,” Clay says, and Tony squints in the dark, making out the shadowy shapes of a makeshift fort. Clay takes his hand and drags him in. “Welcome to my crib,” he says, and Tony giggles at the ludicrousness of it all. “What the hell?” he asks.

“My dad and I built it when I was twelve,” Clay explains, scooting as far back in the little fort as he can, rummaging around until he comes up with a flashlight, a scratchy blanket and two of those long pillows off of lawn chairs. “In the summer we come out here and put out supplies and...I dunno, I come out here to think sometimes.”  He flicks the flashlight on, handing it to Tony, scrutinizing his face. “You think it’s lame, don’t you?” he asks, sounding downtrodden already.

Tony thinks back to the box of kittens. To his car, to his cassette tapes, to the blanket folded up under his pillow, to the hundreds of comfort rituals he’s had before and since then trying to make sense of the swirl of thoughts and emotions that live in his brain, and shakes his head. “No, I think it’s cool, actually.” 

Relief floods Clay’s face, and he pats the makeshift bed. Tony sits, and they’re silent for a few moments longer before Clay finally says, “You know, like maybe all of the stuff that happened happened so this could, too.” 

In the flashlight-lit semi darkness, Tony glances over, trying to read Clay’s expression. Trying to grasp what it is they’re talking about here, exactly. “Sorry?”

“Like…” Clay closes his eyes. Opens them. Closes them, and keeps them closed. “Like Hannah and all the other stuff happened, at least partly, so that this--” indicating the space between them “--could, too.” 

Tony hesitates, tries not to make any suppositions about what Clay means. “Well, we were friends before,” he says evenly.

“Yeah, but.” Quiet again. “Not like this.”

“No,” Tony concedes. “Not like this. So maybe.” 

And then it’s quiet again. Tony listens to Clay’s breathing for so long he thinks he may have fallen asleep, until his voice fills the fort again. “Did you know you can see the stars out here?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He follows Clay out. It’s one of those end of the school year days where the sun warms everything so the grass is warm even as the air cools. It smells like earth and trees and, for some reason, a campfire. Somewhere in the distance, frogs are chirping. None of it feels quite real, somehow.

“See,” says Clay, “there’s the big dipper--” he traces the outline with his finger. “It’s the only one I can ever find but my dad used to point out a whole bunch…” he rambles on about the stars, and Tony lets his voice wash over him, breathing in the smells, the brilliant tableau of stars, losing himself completely for a moment. The crunch of sticks under Clay’s feet is what brings him back, and Tony brings himself back down to earth to find Clay standing in front of him, close enough that once again, Tony can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“Hi,” Clay says, suddenly shy, and Tony does what comes naturally to him--grabs him by the waist, steadies him with hands on his hips. Holds him there for several long seconds before Clay finally bends down and their lips meet. Tony leans upward, cupping Clay’s face in his hands, deepening the kiss before they pull apart. 

“I was tired of waiting for you to do that,” Clay says, blushing right up to the tips of his ears. 

“I was tired of waiting for  _ you,”  _ Tony counters, laughing and leaning up to kiss him again, deciding that the only thing better than Clay smiling is Clay smiling into a kiss.

 

When Clay brings him home later, the silence has taken on a different tone, mostly because Tony can’t stop grinning like an idiot and the blush on Clay’s ears has yet to fade. He kisses Tony once more, on the cheek, when he drops him off. Tony has every intention of leaning in to kiss him one more time before getting out but the porch light comes on and he’s suddenly shy. “I should go,” he says, “see you Monday?”

“Monday,” Clay affirms, giving Tony a bizarre but endearing little salute before driving off.

 

Later, once Tony is showered and in bed, a text arrives from Clay. “i thought i wasn’t ur type,” it says. 

“predestination,” Tony types back.

The cursor blinks. Stops. Blinks again, and then, finally, “jerk.” complete with a kissy face emoji.

“You love it,” Tony replies. This time, his phone buzzes almost as soon as he’s done typing. 

“Something like that,” it says, and this time, Tony knows exactly what that means.

“It’s what i wished for,” he admits. 

“Me, too,” comes Clay’s reply, spreading warmth through Tony’s entire body. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.   



End file.
